


Hold me, keep me safe

by Callmepapi



Series: *-Jaskier-whump-week-* [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Crying, Homophobia, Homophobic rape, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier Whump Week (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25615474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callmepapi/pseuds/Callmepapi
Summary: Part 6 of the Jaskier whump week - Hatred.“You get a bad feeling about everyone I dally off with, go earn some coin, witcher,” he smirks. Geralt smiles - the barest of smiles - and leaves. Jaskier turns, finding that the man from before was indeed still staring at him, and walks towards him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: *-Jaskier-whump-week-* [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848163
Comments: 7
Kudos: 185
Collections: Jaskier Whump Week





	Hold me, keep me safe

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6, wow.
> 
> This story is explicitly about rape/non con, so if that upsets you or makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read it! I cannot stress this enough, please be safe ya’ll.

“So, what is it you’re hunting again?” Jaskier asks. He’s sat at a table opposite Geralt, who’s almost finished his ale and about to leave for a contract.

“Endrega. Should be easy enough,” he says. He picks up his cup and downs it in one before standing up and pulling on his swords, “try not to get in any trouble while I’m gone” Jaskier scoffs, then stands up as well.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Geralt. There’s a man over by the bar there,” he says, nodding his head towards a burly man leaning against a bar and nonchalantly sipping at a cup. Geralt surmised that he was some sort of farmhand, “he’s been giving looks the whole time we were here. I’ll probably take a bite off of his plate, if you know what I mean? Let him clean my chimney? Toast his brea-”

“Bard. I get it,” he sighs, “ be careful. I’ve got a bad feeling about him.” Jaskier laughs and playfully hits him in the chest.

“You get a bad feeling about everyone I dally off with, go earn some coin,  _ witcher _ ,” he smirks. Geralt smiles - the barest of smiles - and leaves. Jaskier turns, finding that the man from before was indeed still staring at him, and walks towards him.

As he walks he makes sure to move his hips the way he  _ knows  _ Geralt likes, and certain everyone appreciates it. The man smirks at him, placing his cup down next another, Jaskier hadn’t noticed that before. The man picks the cup up and offers it to Jaskier, who graciously accepts it.

“What should I call you, kind sir?” Jaskier asks, an innocent smirk playing on his face. He takes a sip of alcohol and the man brings a finger under his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. They’re brown, dark brown, like an endless void into nothing. They’re quite bloodshot, red rimmed and he has some light dark circles under his eyes. Not the most handsome person jaskier’s ever slept with but he’ll make do.

“Braiden.” He says. His voice is rough, gravely. Oh,  _ yes _ , this will do just fine.

They talk for a while, Jaskier talks about being a bard, but Braiden seems to be more interested in the bard’s sexual history. One can never be too careful about diseases, he thinks. As they talk, Jaskier's hand trails up Braiden’s bicep, ghosting over it - a promise for more. Braiden’s hand equally travels down his waist and cups the curve of jaskier’s ass, squeezing slightly.

Jaskier finishes his drink, leaving a strange salty taste on his tongue. He straightens himself from leaning on the bar and gets a sudden dizzy spell, but shakes it off as the alcohol.

“Well,  _ Braiden _ . D’ you have a room here?”he asks, his speech slurring, but again - the alcohol.

“I thought we could go outside, enjoy the fresh air?” He says. Something evil stirs in jaskier’s gut but he pushes it down. There’s nothing wrong with outdoor sex, he’s done it plenty of times with Geralt.

“T’s a beautiful day, be a shame to let it go to waste.” Braiden stands from the bard, putting a hand behind jaskier’s back and gently walking him to the door. The  _ back _ door, but there’s nothing wrong or dangerous about that. Even if Jaskier is getting slightly more dizzy and lightheaded and- oh, now he’s stumbling over his own feet, good thing Braiden’s got him. Actually, Braiden’s got a very strong grip. Actually, that hurts. Oh, now he’s being dragged out the door.

He can’t lift his head, can’t feel his body.

He’s so tired.

So,  _ so  _ tired.

~*~

The hunt was a dud. There were no endregas, just a pack of dying wolves that were so hungry they had started killing people. Fun.

Geralt settles roach in the stables , brushing her mane and giving her a treat, before heading inside and-

Wait. That…  _ smell _ . Metallic, earthy, wildflowers.  _ Jaskier.  _ More correctly - jaskier’s blood.

Geralt huffed, beginning his search of finding the bloody bard ( _ no pun intended _ ). He could follow the trail easily enough, being well acquainted with the smell of the bard’s blood after the whole djinn incident. 

He followed the scent, Leasing him to an old farmhouse. It looked abandoned, but there were still animals in their coops. Was Jaskier inside? Being held hostage by some witcher-hating scum? Was he being tortured for Geralt’s whereabouts?or perhaps on how to kill him? Geralt wasn’t sure, but he was prepared to find out.

As he got closer to the farmhouse, nearing the door, the scent took a sharp turn. Instead of leading him inside the old house, it led him around the back - towards the animal pens.

Geralt slowly passed the pens; observing them for any sign of his maimed friend… well, more than friend. The animals were fairly relaxed at his presence, which did surprise Geralt but there wasn’t time to dwell on that. He passed the pigsty and stopped. The pigs were covering something, huddled over some slumped figure. They were nosing at him, chewing the corners of his silk clothes.

Jaskier’s silk clothes.

Geralt hopped the fence, shooing the animals away from the bard. He looked a state. Left eye bruised black and a bloody gash on his forehead and his cheek. Bloody nose and bruising handprints round his neck.

Gently, he took him in his arms and made his way back to the inn, where they had booked a room for the night. He could only hope that Jaskier had not serious injury that he wasn’t spotting.

The inn was thankfully bleak. He rushed to get Jaskier to their bedroom and gently lay him on the bed. He started undressing him, finding even more injuries that only made his angler flare up more.

The bard’s torso was covered in bruises, cuts, claw marks - skin ripped where blunt nails had traced. Thankfully he was breathing fine, if a little fast. But he would survive. Geralt took off his trousers, confusion growing as he seemed to find more blood. The source of which-

The source of which could give him nightmares for months.

Thick, red blood soaked the inside of his thighs, silk trousers ruined, and spread across the bard’s ass. Small cuts scrape across his skin, like that of a bramble bush. Geralt huffed, lifting one of jaskier’s legs up and inspecting the damage. The cuts only got more savage the higher up his thigh.

He sighed, angry, while gently placing his leg back down. He berated himself, there wasn’t time to be angry now. He had to help Jaskier, had to  _ heal _ him.

So he set to it

~*~

Bruised eyes flutter open.

Aches and pain. So, so sore. Gods, why was he so sore? Oh, right. The farmhand.

Jaskier craned his neck to the side, finding Geralt looking at him. His eyes were open and he looked… pained? He looked sad and confused and angry all at once.

“…Geralt?” He said, his voice was rough and the noise made him realise what a headache he had. Aw, yeah, he was drugged.

“Do you need anything?” Geralt says, and isn’t he the  _ sweetest _ . Jaskier shakes his head and Geralt grunts. He looks away for a moment, then back at Jaskier.

“What happened?” He asks, so softly. Jaskier takes a moment to think because, as of right now, he’s not too sure. There was the guy, what was his name? Blair? Brai- Braiden! Yes! Yes, Braiden  _ drugged _ him, took him outside then everything went black.

“I- I was drugged. The guy at the bar, he  _ drugged _ me. I don’t… quite remem-” oh, but he does now. Yeah, it’s all coming back. He woke up to some guys, including Braiden, beating him to a bloody pulp, then he was out again. Then he woke… to a thick wooden stick being shoved up his ass. It was sore and he cried and he’s sure it probably left some splinters. They would call him names, ‘ _ sodomite! Bugger! Queer! _ ’

“They…” he took a breath, which turned into a sharp sob as his eyes began to water. He laughed, a self deprecating kind of laugh then continued, “ they shoved a stick up my ass and called me a queer.” He laughed again. The laugh quickly turned into shoulder heaving sobs and Geralt held him, tight.

It wasn’t suffocating, and it didn’t remind him of being smothered with people intent on kicking him to death. It was warm, safe, comforting and all around made him feel  _ so  _ much better. Geralt didn’t seem to mind as jaskier cried into his shoulder, wetting the fabric with salty tears. He just kept hugging him, and soothing him; rubbing circles on his back and shushing him as he wept.

Geralt’s head moved and Jaskier could feel chapped lips kiss his neck. His hand moved and combed through his hair. The routine soon soothed the bard to sleep, head nuzzled into the Witcher’s chest as he silently promised to take care of him.


End file.
